


The Fullfillment of Desire

by notADWarrick



Category: Eragon (2006), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Children, Conception, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Love, Night Swim, Sex, Sword Fighting, but not the kind that you're thinking of, dragons?, fullfilment, like real sword fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notADWarrick/pseuds/notADWarrick
Summary: Hey chris, buddy, I read the fork the witch and the worm, because I am forever your devoted fan, and I love your characters w all my heart, but why the FUCK wont you write the end of that love story bc I need it. Anyway, I wrote it myself, so, once again, everyone, here's my utter fucking romantic trash, I know no one ever reads Eragon fic so heres to hoping it gets more than like 3 hits. fuck it. Thinking I might write more chapters bc this has given me the romantic validation I kind of need in my life right now anyways you're probably reading the fic by now so here goes.





	The Fullfillment of Desire

Eragon sat focused at his desk in the eyrie of Mt. Arngorn, nib scratching against paper, utterly absorbed in his work. Keeping correspondence with the greats of Alagaesia was no easy task, nor was keeping the growing thunder of baby dragons in check. He could sense Saphira outside now, flying around the peaks of the mountain, teaching some of the older ones to hunt. Today he was absorbed in new plans to expand nesting area of the younglings, for their small nest in the crags of the mountain was beginning to be a little tight. Suddenly he felt a great jolt of joy from Saphira, and she closed her mind. He stopped his work and probed at her, for this was quite unusual. Questions kept arising, until a steady stream of confused imagery pelted at Saphira.

 

 _It is a surprise little one. Wait and see_.

 

She replied, after a moment, before closing her mind again. The only other thing he could see was a flash of green. He had a feeling he knew what the surprise was, and grinned, setting down his papers. He stood, and as he peered out the window of his study. He felt the cold prickle of a blade, pressed lazily at the back of his neck, and the touch of a mind he knew well, more wild and free than ever

“It seems I’ve bested you again Shadeslayer” Arya teased, “You must have spent these many months become lax in your combat skills.”

 

“Try me,” Eragon replied, ducking from under her blade, and retrieving his own with almost invisible speed. He stood from his roll, ready to parry her next blow. Their swords clanged, sending sparks flying, and he looked deeply into her eyes. They were as wonderful and deep as he remembered. He could still feel her mind, edging at his, and as they faced each other, weapons locked between them. He longed to entangle his own mind with hers, and show her the joy he felt at her presence. Arya withdrew her blade and twirled away, crouching for a minute, as Eragon did the same. They circled each other. Arya attacked again, feinting to his left, but Eragon knew this trick of hers well. He dodged her blade closely as it swung inches from his right arm and jabbed at her leg, which he knew was unguarded. She parried only just in time. Eragon backed away and swung his sword again, this time at her right side, but again Arya was ready, and they stood inches apart again, blades locked, looking into each other’s eyes.

“It seems you _have_ been practicing, Shadeslayer” Arya said, batting her eyelashes just a little, enough to make Eragon loosen his grip just slightly, for his heart pounded a little too hard in his ears. She took advantage. “Brisingr!” yelled Arya, and Eragon’s sword leapt into flame. He jumped back in surprise and in no time, she was on top of him, straddling him on the ground, and his sword, still alit, was across the room. They both breathed heavily. Arya set her sword beside her and leaned towards him. Their foreheads touched. He whispered her true name, and smiled, and she in turn whispered his. They sat like this, breathing for a second, letting their lips graze across each other.

 

“I have missed you.” Eragon said.

 

“And I you” Arya replied. They fell apart, and Eragon rose, offering Arya his hand, and murmured a word of gramarye to put out the flame of his sword. She took his hand, and Eragon studied her for the first time as they stood. She wore a soft forest green long sleeved shirt, that flowed out around her upper body loosely, and a pair of soft riding breeches, with leather calf length boots. He could tell she had been riding all day, for her hair was whipped around her face from the wind, the dark brown trusses still almost waving at him, and she stood as if her legs had not quite adjusted to being without the dragon saddle. It seemed she was taking him in as well. He was not the boy who had first arrived in Du Weldenvarden many years ago, or even the man who had left to raise dragons, the smell of blood and battle still upon him. He was becoming someone else. His body was still toned, but he stood taller, straighter, and his dusty brown hair was a little longer. He had grown a beard as well, which stood in contrast with his more elven features, but suited him very well. It was fall, after all, and a beard never went amiss in the cold winter. She could also see something in his eyes she had not seen before. A spark, hope maybe, that spoke of future.

 

“Should we walk?” Eragon asked, offering his hand a second time.

 

“Yes.” Arya replied. She took his hand. They descended the steps of the eyrie together. He traced his thumb along the delicate knuckles of her hand as they walked into the cool fall mountain air. They did not speak very much, instead just touched minds, thought flowing to thought between them, as if no time had passed at all. Eragon watched as Arya shared with him the new flower she had sung from the soil of her garden, the intricate dramas of the elven happenings, including the travels of the dragon riders eggs among the citizens of Alagaesia. In turn he shared the building he had done on the new colony forming below the mountain, the nest of the dragons, and the tale of the Worm of Kulkaras, and the hatching of the first wild dragon. Before they knew it, they stood at the fork of the Edda river, looking upon the forming colony and the home of everything that Eragon had come to build.

 

“ I have something to ask of you Eragon.” Arya said, looking upon all of it.

 

“I sensed as much” Eragon replied, “But I knew you would tell me what your query was when you were ready.” Arya took a breath in. They listened to the early fall night sounds. The wind in the leaves, the croaking of the frogs, the faraway hoot of an owl.

 

“I want to be a mother,” Arya said, softly, in exhale. Eragon could sense her nervousness, which was strange to him, for anxiety, about much of anything, was not something he had ever seen in Arya. “And I want the child to be ours. I have thought about it much, and in processing losing my mother I realized something. That I wanted a child too, to cherish, and to tell tales to, and to carry on the love that she gave me. I could think of no one whose child I would rather it be than yours.” Relief washed over Arya in having said her feelings aloud. Eragon stood in silence for a moment, processing, still listening.

 

“You know my answer is yes, Arya, and you always knew it would be.” He could sense her sureness about having this child in her thoughts, and thus did not ask her aloud for reassurance. And she, to, could sense his passion, the vision he had, forming of their baby, holding it in his arms, showing it to Saphira, and Firnen, of flying, their child pressed next to him, learning to love the wind and the wild feeling of the night air.

“But how will we both take care of it?” Eragon asked her, softly. “Are you sure we could even conceive? And,” he glanced at the grass beneath them “although I know you care for me… I am in experienced in the matter of conception, and I do not know that I would be a good enough man for you, or a good enough father to our child.” Arya chuckled, and this time, did not speak, but shared her thoughts directly with him, and cupped his face in her hands

 

 _Eragon, you forget. I know everything about you, to your core. I know all your flaws, and mistakes, and misgivings, just as you know mine. And as it comes to inexperience, I do not care, for I will be there to guide you, and I know what I want. You are enough for me, and I have every confidence that if we are to conceive, and there is no harm in trying, you would be an excellent father_.

 

With this she kissed him deeply, and they both lingered on the soft coolness of the night, and on the beauty that surrounded them. Eragon was now even more conscious of the gentle curves of Arya’s body, the soft floral smell that hung around her in wreathes, and the way the moon seemed to dance on her skin. He slid his hands to her hips, and pulled her closer, delving his tongue into her mouth for just a second before withdrawing it. She nipped at his lower lip, teasing him.

 

“Well Shadeslayer,” Eragon said when he withdrew, a spark again in his eyes, “Would you prefer to return to the eyrie for our first experiment in child creation, or would you prefer to stay here?”

 

“What is the grass, but a bed, and what is the earth but a laboratory, fresh with the heat of desire?” Arya replied, in the ancient language. Eragon laughed, and removed his shirt.

 

“So it is my queen, so it is.” They kissed once again, this time Arya running her hands over the muscled expanse of Eragon’s tanned chest. It made her laugh, to see that the freckles from his days as a farm boy, had not faded as he gained his more elven features. They dotted his shoulders and his arms in little brown stars, creating constellations on his skin, which she traced lovingly. She removed the shirt she wore for flying, and now stood bare chested as well. Eragon looked at her, and she bent, unlacing her boots, and shucked them into the brush with her shirt.

 

“It is far too nice an evening to stay clothed for long, anyways.” Arya said. She reached for his mind with hers, could feel his nervousness, but also, a desire so intense, so needy, so human that it drew her in like a moth to flame. She sat on the grass of the riverbank, and stretched out, letting him come to her. He unlaced his own boots as well, and knelt next to her, now wearing only his breeches. She took his hand.

 

“I am yours, and you are mine. I am not some girl in the village who expects of you a performance. Breathe, and know that we can take care of each other, that you have always known what my needs were, and it is no different when it comes to needs of the body.”

 

“I know,” He whispered. “I have wanted to be with you since the day I met you.” He paused for a minute. “Would you happen to fancy a swim?” He asked her, looking at the lazy section of the river that lay before them.

 

“Yes, Eragon, I would” She smiled, stood, removed her breeches, and walked into the water, letting her hands glide along its surface, murmuring what she was not sure was a spell or simply a wish, for good luck. He watched as she did this, and then removed his own last piece of clothing, and walked closer to her in the water. His desire had begun to show itself, but clearly, he had every control over it for he was not rough or fast, or in any way forceful. He wrapped his mind around hers, showing her the woman he saw before him, letting her feel the love, the devotion, the appreciation that he felt. She too shared with him what she saw. Broad shoulders, a kind smile, strength, bravery, and compassion wrapped into someone so loving it almost hurt. He took her by the shoulders. Again they touched foreheads, and whispered their true names. He kissed her more vigorously this time, not as soft as before, and she could feel his anxiety beginning to lift. She took his hands, placed them on her breasts, and showed him what she wanted. He smiled against her kiss. He did as she had shown him, pinching her nipples, just a little, until they pebbled, and he could feel a gasp coming from between her lips. Her mind now to buzzed with desire, as she felt his cock, pressed against her thigh in the water, jump just a little. Again she shared with him an image, to overtaken now, to use words. Again he did as she asked. She spread her legs, just slightly, and he ran his hands down her body, teasing her, tracing along the cleft of her hipbone where she had shown him that she liked to be touched. He reached the part in her thighs, and pressed her fingers slowly into her, and the withdrew, tracing her entrance, savoring the softness of it. She moaned, and their still linked minds exchanged images without abandon, openly sharing what they both wanted. Eragon watched again as Arya showed him what to do. He rubbed the hard nub of her clit, and she threw her head back, feeling the explosion of sensation within her. She reached for him as well, for she knew too, that he was now working hard to hold himself in check. She stroked a finger along his shaft, and ran the other along his beard.

_Show me how you like it_

she asked of Eragon, as he shivered, and stopped for a second the ministrations between her legs. Images flooded her, of his rough hands, running over his pulsing body, stroking back and forth, and she copied his movements, the small ways he teased his his head, the way he liked to rub his thumb along the base of himself. When she came back to her own mind, the echoes of his deep voice rang around her. He breathed in heavily.

 

“Stop.” He said. “I want to make this last. We have goals to accomplish after all, and it would be good for no one if I spent myself in the river water” Their lips met, and he lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and he held her with ease. They adjusted, and she could feel him, poised at her entrance, waiting. She traced a hand down his upper back.

 

“You don’t have to ask.” Arya said

 

“And yet I will.” Eragon replied, his voice calm and collected.

 

“Yes.” Arya replied, and he pushed into her. A burst of pleasure escaped from them both, and Arya shifted him within her just slightly, so that he hit the spot that made her feel like even the whims of the earth could not stop her. Eragon lifted her, and together they began to create a rhythm, making ripples in the water around them. Arya loved the way he felt inside her, firm, vigorous, and she loved the way his face relaxed as he let his desire take control. She could, though, sense his arms tiring.

 

“Take me to the riverbank” She murmured in his ear, and he did so. He lay down in the soft soil that lined the water and she straddled him, as she had before in his study in the eyrie, only now nothing lay between them. She sank on to him, no longer holding back, and it was as if their minds became one. She could almost feel his hands as her own as he reached to rub her clit once again, and he too, could feel the burst of pleasure that he had caused, could see himself as she saw him, hair tousled in the dirt, mouth open, cheeks flushed. He felt her desire rise too, in waves, until it reached a peak. Their rhythm was no longer slow, and skin slapped against skin. He ran his hands along her body, quickly, and let loose a wild call, for as she began to clench just slightly around him, he felt his own body begin to climax in response, following hers. Together they came, calling along with the sounds of the meadow, letting their bodies together be absorbed into one.

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued


End file.
